Dear Liddell Entertainment, more specifically, Mickey Liddell,
My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I'm a 25 year old with a zest for life and a passion for spooky shenanigans. I took my boyfriend to see your heinous and ungodly attention seeking transparent money hungry attempt at wooing the fright seeking Halloween crowd, and if it wasn't for the delicious mouthfuls of popcorn I was consuming until the bitter end, I believe I would have given up in my smelly movie theater chair two rows from the front of the screen, and ended my life where I sat at an awkward angle.
You see, Mr. Liddell, the synopsis of the movie had such potential. It had mystique, creativity, the morbid fascination factor. On a more intimate note, I related to it on a personal level, because when I was born, I too died on the bathroom floor, and my parents too did make a pact with the Devil, where he would consume my soul for all of eternity to do his bidding, at the tender age of 18. Mr. Liddell, this is a story close to my heart, and although I appreciate your attempt at portraying it on the big screen, I think that there could have been better preparation and more attention to detail. For example, my name is not Molly Hartley. It's Sarah Bertrand, as stated above. Also, my house did not look like that, I never dated Chace Crawford, and my mother never tried to stab me with a pair of scissors; she tried to scare the Devil out of me by hiding in the pantry, and jumping out screaming, and bursting a balloon in my face. I didn't talk to her for three days, and needless to say I didn't die of fright, but I know that she really loves me, and I appreciate the fact that she tried to save me from my inevitable fate. Putting that aside, Robert Hartley was a great father who you could tell really loved his daughter, but he was over it pretty quickly when Molly was responsible for her mother plummeting over the banister to her death, landing on a pair of scissors that pierced her heart. Which not only makes me question Robert's morals, but also the laws of physics.
Mr. Liddell, I am a bright, punctual, salacious, classy broad that enjoys thought provoking cinematic experiences that enrich my life in some way, whether it's through an emotional journey, an inspirational song someone performs, or me slipping my delicate yet sticky fingers into the ladies' purse next to me and taking all the hard earned money I can grab.
Mr. Liddell, you are not the only one to blame. John Travis clearly panicked during the last twenty five minutes of production because he drew a blank as to how he could end this bumbling bijou, and decided that the best thing to do would to take a character we had sympathized with the entire film, who was kind, and who made me want to nurture her and cradle her to my bosom and tell her everything was going to be ok, that those horrible visions of her mother would cease and she'd eventually stop getting locked in her bathroom and have the water stop running by itself and stop hearing those voices that called her name and stop getting nose bleeds and stop having panic attacks... *inhales deeply* and turn her into a raging insensitive brutish nincompoop harlot. I was down in the dumps, and one might say lost in a blue funk. My heart was heavy, with sadness and with guilt, wondering what I could have done more to prevent Molly from spiralling into the demonic abyss that inevitably became her fate.
Personal feelings aside, we need to discuss retribution. I'd appreciate $12.00 for the ticket I purchased, as well as $11.95 for the combo I needed to calm my nerves, and cure my boredom. I also had hoped that this went without saying, but I expect that as noble expression to the importance of your fans, fickle and otherwise, I'd have a major motion picture created based on my life as an aspiring journalist/poltergeist, and we could call it, The Jurassic Adventures of Sarah Bertrand. In A Park. We could find Jeff Goldblum to be my romantic interest, and Sarah Michelle Gellar could dress up like a dinosaur. I'd like to convene and discuss further business. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing back from you personally.
Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand
P.S. If you find this letter offensive, I apologize; it is not my intention. I only want justice for myself and my hard earned penny. I beg you to remember, the Devil promised to venture to Scarborough to possess my soul when I turned 18.. I am now 25. You do the math.
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